Where You Want To Be
by tofsla
Summary: Intimacy and unresolved feelings. Makishima/Tadokoro after chapter 66.


The room is half-dark, late evening sunlight picking out squares of orange on the wall of Yuusuke's bedroom. The first-years went home hours ago, bickering all the way out the door, leaving the house quiet in their wake. Even Tadokoro isn't talking much. He's probably still thinking about Kinjou—just like Yuusuke is.

This is the year. It's happening now. Hardly any more time to prepare.

He sighs, leans back against Tadokoro's legs; Tadokoro is sitting on the edge of Yuusuke's bed, with Yuusuke on the floor beside him, and he really doesn't want to move. Can't be bothered with turning on the lights or moving the fan. Something about the heat and the tension of thinking so hard about the Inter High all day has left him exhausted, and it's comfortable like this, Tadokoro's leg broad and solid against his arm.

"I'm going to call him," Tadokoro says. "Come on, give me your phone."

Yuusuke just rolls his eyes and hands it to him, reaching up over his shoulder. Tadokoro never remembers to charge his phone. Half the time he doesn't even remember to take it with him when he leaves the house.

Tadokoro's thumb brushes up the side of Yuusuke's hand, and Yuusuke is glad he didn't turn around. It's embarrassing to be so easily flustered. It's even worse to have Tadokoro fail to notice.

He sighs, closes his eyes and listens to Tadokoro's abrupt questions, his grunted responses, imagines Kinjou sitting on a train somewhere and smiling indulgently to himself as though he doesn't need them looking out for him. But he's probably glad for it anyway, isn't he? It was a weird winter, after all. And a bad autumn.

He's surprised by Tadokoro's hand coming to rest casually on his shoulder, fingers tangling a little in his hair, just barely brushing the side of his neck. It takes everything he's got not to freeze up, to make a big deal out of it—to do anything that might make Tadokoro stop. He breathes carefully, shifts his weight—realises, belatedly, that he's pressing even closer to Tadokoro. Doesn't move away.

"Yeah," Tadokoro is saying. "We showed them. Thought Onoda would fall over."

"He's like that about everything," Yuusuke murmurs, even though Tadokoro isn't talking to him, and Tadokoro snorts, has to explain why to Kinjou. He's still touching Yuusuke, probably kind of absent-mindedly—his fingers stroke through Yuusuke's hair, smooth it away from his neck. It's an obscenely intimate gesture, but it's done so naturally that it's fine, for once—not frightening at all. Yuusuke feels it tingling through his skin—feels something spark deep in his stomach, hot and unsteady, pleasantly uncomfortable. Leans his head against Tadokoro's knee, feeling brave. Just for a moment.

"Hey," Tadokoro says, deep and quiet, "you falling asleep down there?" He must be done with the phone call. Yuusuke didn't even notice.

"Like hell I am, you idiot," he mutters, and Tadokoro laughs—not the big open laugh everyone else gets, when he's showing off and messing around, being a parody of himself for an audience. Something quieter, that doesn't break the moment.

"Come here," Tadokoro says, and Yuusuke shifts to kneel between his legs, puts a hand on Tadokoro's thigh to stand only to be stalled by Tadokoro's hands in his hair again, both of them now, deliberate and weirdly gentle—looks up to find Tadokoro's expression completely focused. His eyes are fixed on Yuusuke as though—as though he can't even look away.

But that'd be ridiculous.

Yuusuke has to close his eyes again, suddenly horrified by what Tadokoro might be seeing in his expression.

"We're going to win," Tadokoro says. He's said it probably twenty times today, loud and brash, but now it's transformed, made reassuring. Quiet confidence. Who knew.

Who knew Tadokoro would even notice that was what he needed.

Everything is shifting again. Has been shifting constantly for the last year. All these moments—touches that are way too long, too private—things they never talk about, that they just let happen. As though they're trying to pretend that none of it's even worth commenting on. Just friends doing friend things. How idiotic.

"Yeah," Yuusuke says, because he can't find any of the other words, all the embarrassing ones about the two of them and about Kinjou and victory and need and even something almost like—like—"Of course we are. Hey—Tadokorocchi—"

"Hmm?" Tadokoro says. One of his hands is cupping the back of Yuusuke's head, broad palm resting flat against his skull and fingertips still stroking carefully through his hair. It's not like it should be that big of a deal, but it is. Yuusuke is horribly turned on. He can hardly remember what he was even going to say. Tadokoro smirks at him. "OK?"

Yuusuke manages a strangled kind of laugh. What the fuck does he say—sure, but it'd be better if you kissed me? Ah, just thinking about sucking you off? He can't. It's too much. He can kiss Tadokoro, sometimes, but he keeps everything else inside, dizzying little fantasies for when he's alone, for when he can't make any more of an idiot of himself. Sometimes he wonders if sex would be easier with someone he didn't have such hopelessly inescapable feelings for. "Fine."

When Tadokoro leans down to kiss him Yuusuke turns his face up to meet him, and tries not to shudder at how _much_ it is—how much more he wants.


End file.
